Sick Day
by kittypet14
Summary: England's sick, America wants to take care of him, there is tea spilling, a blushy England, and a blushy America. What more could you ask for? "I think we should take this up to your room, because you're sick, and-" "I'm not having Bloody sex with you when I'm sick!" USUK or is it UKUS? Hmm... Find out and stuff! Fluff! Sick!England SemiOblivious!America


Okay, so, USUK! Yeah! Yeah...! Yeah... Yes. Shall we start? I think so. So, without further ado, my weird one shot.  
I do not own Hetalia... I'm not a genius. -Sigh-...  
And, Begin!

* * *

England was currently in bed, attempting to recover from a 'small' cold that he had been busy trying to rid himself from for the past three days. Although he'd had three days to get over this 'small' cold, he felt that he was nowhere near getting any closer to being healthy again.

At the moment, he was reading a light novel, something that he was grateful for, really, it was a lot better than sitting and watching TV. Ugh, TV, don't even get him started on that subject, just what exactly was so good about it? Nothing, really, that is, aside from the BBC channel. Anyway, A good book was usually far more satisfying than sitting and staring at a black box for hours on end.

England continued to read, content with his book, judging by his facial features, anyway. His right hand held his book in place, while his left lightly grasped the handle of the cup of tea that was placed on the night stand. He slowly brought the hot tea cup up to his slightly chapped lips, his eyes bumping along the words as they hurried to finish the sentence.

As soon as they met the period mark, England placed his worn novel down and began to sip his tea. "Ow...! Bloody hell, that's hot. Ugh, I forgot to add milk... Damn..." England's raspy voice hissed out. He sighed, clearing his throat, which ached with a sharp pain every time he swallowed. Great, just Brilliant. He had forgotten to grab the milk and cream when he had ventured down to the kitchen earlier that morning.

He really did not want to go downstairs, for it would mean getting out of his comfy, warm bed, and journeying out into the cold, somber air that awaited outside of his room. England glanced at his door, he honestly didn't want to go downstairs, but then again, hot tea without any milk or cream to cool down with was certainly a serious matter...

Deciding to bravely resist the lethargic feeling that weighed him down, England slowly kicked off the sheets and blanket, his legs already starting to accumulate goose bumps as his feet touched the ground. His feet quietly padded towards the door, as his head felt heavy, clouded, and ached slightly with a dull throb. He coughed rather loudly into his hand as the other reached to open the door knob. Damn, it was cold.

He guessed that on any other day, when he wasn't feeling so ill, the temperature of his house would actually be moderate, warm even. "Damn cold..." He muttered, god, he really should've grabbed his grey comforter. He shivered slightly as he walked downstairs, his arms wound themselves around his slim figure.

He soon reached the bottom of the stairs, stopping for a moment to let out a small cough. After locating his creamer and grabbing a small pitcher of milk, England was about to make the journey up the stairs, when he heard,

"Hey, England! Dude, the hero has arrived!"

_Oh God..._ England slowly turned around, trying to make as little noise as possible. Maybe, maybe if he snuck upstairs and pretended that no one was home, America would go away. Just as he was about to reach the stairs, he heard America's loud voice yet again._  
_

"Hey, I know you're in there! France told me that you've been sick, and that I should come over and do something while you're vulnerable, whatever that means!"

England flushed, his grip on the small cups of creamer became so tight that a few of them burst in his hand. "Dammit...!" He muttered as he stared down at his hand, which was dripping with creamer.

_BAM BAM BAM!_ "England, open the freakin' door! I brought McDonalds!"

_No... No, gross food... Nausea... Oh God... Stop it..._

"Hurry up England, I know you're here! The food's getting cold! I brought you a _hamburger_ to make you feel better!"

_BAM BAM BAM!_

At this point, England's head was aching in protest, with every sound and shout that America made, his head retaliated with a sharp pain.

_'Ow, ow, ow... dammit... Just shut up already!_'

"Goddammit Alfred, I'm coming, so shut the hell up!"

_BAM BAM BA- _. . . "Well geez, someone's moody..."

England scowled, holding his head with one as the other reached for the doorknob. "Hey buddy, how ya' doing?" England was greeted with a warm hug, which helped considerably with his fight against his goose bumps. Brushing aside the shiver he felt when America hugged him, because dammit, he was not in love with the bloody fool, England pushed the other nation away. "What the hell do you think you're doing here?" England questioned, a bushy eyebrow tilted up.

America acted offended, a hand over his heart as he gasped dramatically, taking a step away from England. America then threw England a grin as he marched through the doorway, ignoring the glare that England threw back at him and instead concentrated on balancing the cup holder that held two large cups and a huge greasy bag.

"So, Mr. Sick Guy, how have you been?" America asked as he plopped himself down on the couch, his hand already reaching into the greasy bag. England rolled his eyes as he set down his pitcher of milk, and choosing to ignore the question, walked into the kitchen to throw away the now empty creamer cups. As soon he was finished, he washed his hands, then steadied himself on the counter. He held his head with one hand as the other tightly clenched the counter edge. _'It's only for awhile... Only for awhile...'_

England took a deep breath before heading back out into the living room. "Oh, here, I got ya' something... Hold on..." America began to dig through the bag, tossing the empty hamburger wrappers onto the floor, ignoring the glare that England was currently giving him.

After a few more moments of glaring and tossing, Alfred finally presented England with a small green box. "It's apple pie. I thought you'd want something sweet..." America trailed off, seeing that England still had a scowl on his face. "...What...? Dude, here." America again held out the small green box, giving England a blank stare.

"I don't want your freakin' apple pie." England grimaced in disgust, how dare America present him with junk food, food from _McDonald's_ nonetheless! Although, a small, very tiny part of him was actually really, very happy that America had actually thought of him.

If he were to think about his feelings for America, then the hopeless romantic inside him would surely come out... Better stop there. But read into the 'hopeless romantic'. Seriously. Getting back to America...

America frowned, "Well geez Iggy, here I am trying to be all nice and stuff, while you're being Mr. Grumpy Pants here." America pouted slightly as he began to sip his coke, placing the green box on the table in front of him. England sighed as he stared at the ground. An pocket of awkwardness enveloped the two as England stared intensely at the ground and America loudly sipped his coke.

_Slurp Slurp Sluuuuurp Sluuuuuuuuuu-_

"Shut up! Bloody hell, stop your annoying slurping, _-cough, cough-_! Y-you bloody git..."

England sighed yet again as he stumbled forward, finally falling into the couch partly from exhaustion from having America over, and the fact that his cold seemed to be getting increasingly _worse_. "Damn Iggy, ya should of told me that you were this sick!" America frowned as he leaned closer to England. England sniffed as he tried swatting away America's hand, which was trying to come into to contact with his forehead.

"Get away, I'm fine..." England protested as he tried to contain another cough. America sighed, annoyed by the older nation's stubborn attitude as he lightly grasped England's wrist, pulling it away (slightly enjoying the way England became even more flushed as he did so) and leaned closer to the struggling nation, placing his hand over the others forehead... "Damn Iggy, you're burning up!"

England glowered at the American and replied sarcastically "Oh really? I hadn't noticed, maybe I'm sick!" England's scowl grew deeper as he continued, "God Alfred, of course I have a bloody fever! I haven't been feeling absolutely _horrible_ for the last few days if I wasn't (sick)!" England huffed as he scooted away from the now irritated American.

"God, Stop being so goddamn moody, you're _sick_, not dying." America rolled his eyes as he again scooted closer to the red faced nation. "Stop moving closer, go away! What are you even doing here? You live in America, not bloody England, don't tell me you flew all the way here just to kill me with McDonalds." England again protested, pushing the American away.

America sighed, England's 'tsundere' side, as Japan had called it, was coming out. Although he found it very endearing and very cute, sometimes- ah, to hell with the complaining. Seeing England_ red_ and _blushy_ and so _cute_ and _adorable_ was the _bestest _thing _ever_, and he looked so freakin' _vulnerable_ so veeeery-_ ... _Better stop now.

"Actually, I kinda did..."

"...What...?"

"I did fly from America, you know, after I heard you were sick and all... I was kind of worried after France told me that you were sick at yesterday's meeting... So I came over to check on you..."

"...O-oh... Th-thank you, I guess..."

America glanced over to England, noticing that England was facing the other way, also that England's ears had turned scarlet. America frowned, was he getting worse?

"Hey, Iggy," America gently grabbed England's shoulder, turning him around. England stared at the ground, visibly embarrassed, lips forming into a slight pout, which America thought was _really_ cute.

"Don't call me that."

"Iggy."

England's eyes glanced up to his face as his eyebrows furrowed in, "I told you, don't bloody call me that!" Another fit of coughing.

America grew concerned, he _was_ getting worse.

"Iggy, ...I think we should move this up to your room." America drew closer and closer to the ailing nation, who in turn shrunk back.

"...The hell... Move what...?"

"Us. You know, to your bed, because you really need to-" America was roughly shoved away by a blushing, angry England.

"What the bloody hell, are you insane?! Are you seriously suggesting what I think you're suggesting?! What the fuck Alfred?!" England stuttered out, his mind and heart racing furiously, his blush slowly crawling down his neck and up his ears, effectively making him look like a lobster.

His eyes wide, he thought about what the younger nation had said, was America really suggesting that the two of them... The two of them... the two of them have sex...?! Oh god, England was getting dizzy again.

"What the hell Iggy?!" America groaned from his position on the ground, cradling his wrist which had taken the blunt of the fall as he tried not to become gravity's victim. "Grumpy old men..." America grumbled as he started getting up. "Get away from me, you sick pervert!" England pressed himself against the couch, glaring as he watched America stare back at him.

"What are you talking about? Are you getting delusional? C'mon Iggy, we really have to go upstairs." America frowned as he tried to grab England's wrist. England shook him off, "Get off of me, bloody wanker. I have no intention of going upstairs with you in this condition!" America was confused. "In what condition?"

England scowled, his anger removing the best of him as he yelled;

"I am _not_ going to have _sex_ with you when I'm bloody sick!"

And silence... For what seemed like a while...

Then guffawing. From America. Yes.

"W-what?! Y-you thought... -Laughs- Y-you mean t-to say that you... -Can't breath- Thought... Oh _god_ Iggy!" America's boisterous laughter slowly came down to chuckles, then finally small, high pitched giggles. Now it was England's turn to be confused.

"Oh, wow." America finally calmed down enough to look at England without bursting into giggles. "I just wanted you to go to bed, cuz you know, you're sick. Normal people go lay down when they're sick, ya know? " America explained as he watched England get even _more_ red, and _boy_, did he look angry. Maybe he shouldn't have laughed, after all, he'd thought about it plenty times himself, and he wasn't laughing then, in fact- Ah, that's enough of that...

Anyway, it had surprised him that England had said that, America was caught off guard, and like most Americans, laughed about it and maybe might've potentially screwed up any chance he had with his crush. Speaking of which...

To say England was mad would be incorrect, because he was not only mad, but embarrassed. Extremely so. Also very angry. Very, very angry. Partially at himself, partially because he thought that America would never mean it _that_ way, more so now that he just laughed at the accidental insinuation of it, and just because. His being mad at America had become somewhat of a huge habit of his. Anyway...

"Get out."

"What?"

"Get the hell out of my house."

"Iggy, c'mon, anyone would've made the same mistake... Besides, you're sick, and the hero doesn't leave sick people alone until they get better."

"Leave." Was England's gruff reply as he picked himself off the couch and walked slowly upstairs, ignoring America's protests as he did so.

America sighed, he screwed up again.

* * *

England scowled as he trudged up the stairs, how dare America laugh at him, he, a former_ Empire_. England cussed as he remembered that he had forgotten to grab his milk and creamer, then darkened his scowl as he realized that his tea was probably already cold. Damn America, ruining everything! England walked into his room, glaring at his bed, longing for the time when he was pleasantly reading a book, in peace, without America.

After standing with a longing look for a few more moments, England sighed. Tea was tea, he supposed, even if it was cold, and dammit, he wouldn't let America ruin his tea! So, after grabbing his comforter (It was cold downstairs, and by the Gods, he wouldn't show America that he was cold, therefore being weak), and begrudgingly trudged downstairs.

"Iggy, uh- I mean, England, I'm super, like, totally sorry for being such and asshat earlier." Ignore.

"Please forgive me. I'm super sorry." Ignore.

"I, like, fail so epically, and I suck." ... Ignore. Even if it was true. (Lie)

"I... am no longer a hero."

...

"When were you ever considered a hero? "

In all honesty, he couldn't help but respond to that one. England couldn't help but chuckle a bit when he saw America's reaction, which was a facial expression that could be read as 'dumbfounded'.

"What?" England asked as he quirked an eyebrow at America's confused look. "Dude... Totally not the reaction I was looking for. I thought you were gonna be all 'Lolz, wut America? You're totes the hero!'" America explained as he eyed England's expression.

England chuckled even more. "Really? And when do I ever use the words 'totes' and 'lolz'?" England chuckled more, then stopped as he remembered the real reason why he came downstairs. Blushing at his slip up, England tried to scowl, a tiny blush soon bursting across England's face as he pulled the blanket tighter around himself, muttering a "I'm still mad at you, so don't talk to me. Bloody wanker." America smiled, England was starting to give in.

America slowly lifted himself off the couch, noticing that England's blush grew brighter as he did so. "Please forgive me Iggy? Please?" America pouted at England, who in turn gave America a glare as his stubborn answer came out. "No thank you."

America sighed as he walked towards England. England shuffled slightly to his right so he could avoid looking at the American, coughing loudly and pulling the blanket tighter around his figure, then was surprised as he was gently pulled over to the couch.

"What do you think you're doing?" England protested as America gently grabbed his wrist as they both shuffled awkwardly towards the couch, much due to England's feeble attempt at shifting his weight back, towards the kitchen. "I, being the awesome hero I am, am attempting to take care of a very stubborn victim, plagued with a seriously bad cold. Here I am, Mr. so-called Gentleman, risking my health for you, and how do you treat this act of heroism? With cold-heartedness!" America sighed and tugged a bit harder on England's wrist.

"Well, no matter, I shall take care of you until you're better! Even if it is against your will." America said the last sentence with a sly smirk, and suddenly, England was swept off the floor. "What the-?! Bloody wanker! Put me down!" England weakly protested as he feebly smacked America's chest. America smirked when he saw England blush for the umpteenth time that day. "No." He replied as he gently sat down on England's couch, turning England into a sitting position on his lap whilst still embracing that nation.

America gulped as he glanced down at the nation, and he was sure that he was starting to turn the same shade of red that adorned England's face. Maybe... Maybe it was time that he allowed himself to admit his feelings for him...

Maybe, this time, he could allow himself to seriously think about him and England. Together. As in the _together together_ way. As in 'I'll-love-you-forever-and-ever-and-ever-and-I-love-your-face-and-I-want-to-kiss-you-all-the-time-and-it's-totally-not-creepy-when-I-say that-because-you-love-me-too'. That kind of way.

Was that kind of future even possible for him and England?

He decided he'd better find out.

* * *

England was blushing. Not your average kind of blushing, mind you, but the red as a siren that flashes a very bright red light around, so bright that it hurts your eyes when you look at said siren. Yes, he was to that extent of the blushing phase. Damn America.

England squirmed as he tried to pry America's arms apart, bloody Hell, this was embarrassing! And on a side note, he was NOT enjoying the way America's arms kind of really warmed up his sides, or how that warmth was running up and don his body. No. It was not a good feeling at all. (Lie.)

"A-America, let go. I can bloody take care of myself!" England squirmed around more, but this time, he failed to notice that America was now squirming around with him. Now England's blush began to fade just a bit, but then was rekindled by America's next statement.

"U-um... England, y-you might not want to do that so much... Part of your blanket kinda... It's sorta, ah... Bunched up down there, and... uh, if you keep moving around, it... Um, Just, just- You shouldn't move around!" America, once again was beet red, and now, England was a siren again. "D-dammit America! Can't you control yourself?1 Especially when it's a_ blanket_! D-don't do this when _I'm_ sitting on your _lap_!"

"That's mostly why...!" America replied, of course, not aware of what he had just blurted out as he released England, tearing away his blanket and stuufing it over his lap to keep 'it' hidden.

-Sigh- England, you really need to learn to stop blushing so much, it's not healthy!

Anyway, after blabbermouth America realized why it was so silent in the room and why England was even more red, he himself began to look as if he was sick. Oh god, he was supposed to be all romantic and all that shit!

"U-um... I-I meant to say... Um... Oh! Look! You didn't even take the time to drink the sweet tea I bought! Be chivalrous gentleman and drink it! Y-you're English, or British, or whatever1 Now drink your tea old chap!" America's hand flew towards the warm sweet tea and basically spilled half of it on England's floor as he presented the open Styrofoam cup to England's face.

"...What." The sound of tea dripping off of England's face was the only thing either of them heard for about five seconds. Then America started talking.

"Oh, God, Uh, sorry Iggy! I, um, sorry, I just needed a distraction cuz you were being all cute and stuff and I couldn't really stop the thing from, uh, no, Um... How do I say this? Uh.., um, I just-just, I just really like you and I know that I'm not supposed to, and you might wanna wipe your face or something cuz it's all sticky, and! Gah! N-not gonna talk about faces and them being sticky or what that makes me think of, or um, I-I'm sorry!" America inwardly cursed at himself as he shut his eyes and braced himself for England's rejection and attack.

Then he was pleasantly surprised. Sort of, if not weirded out.

"Um, dude, kind of really glad that you're not hitting me or yelling at me, but... Why are you rubbing your face on my chest...?

"Sh-shut up! Y-you're the one who t-told me to wipe my face off -Cough- s-so since _you're_ the one using the blanket, I decided to use your shirt. Bloody git."

"So..."

"-Sigh- Just so you know, I- er- kind-of-really-like-you-too. -Cough- Even if you are an idiot. and a wanker, and a git. -Cough-"

"...Really?"

"Does the Doctor hate Daleks?"

"What? Um... Yes. I think so... Maybe? Gah! I don't watch British channels Iggy!"

"... Bloody Git! Of course!"

"Now my shirts all sticky! Look at what your face did to my shirt! This was my favorite one!"

"Bloody hell, you ruined the clean image I have of my blanket! Give it here, I need to wash it."

"..." Awkward shifting around. "I-I... It's still here."

"Oh my God Alfred!"

"W-well, what can I say? You're being all adorable and blushy and all that crap! What am I supposed to do?! This can all be traced back to you! It's all your fault!"

"... Iggy...? W-watcha doing...? A-ah! D-don't tou-" By now, England was back on America's lap, holding back a small cough, but smirking dangerously. He gently bit America's ear then whispered "Wanna take this upstairs? You know, to my bed?" America then grabbed England and ran upstairs, all tea forgotten.

Needless to say, America got sick the following week, but was taken care of by England, and was occupied with Doctor Who binging and choking down England's food, and a lot of the time, England.

* * *

And Fin! It seemed a bit OOC to me... but I felt as if I had to absolutely post something. Anyway, thank you for reading, and please review!~


End file.
